COINCIDENCE
I am all in.
Exhausted.
Out of it.
Irritable.
I decide to go to the jail, to check out the progress or lack thereof. It's begun to rain, and me with no umbrella. When I duck inside, I find that all work has stopped. Only then do I realize how late it is and that the workers have gone home for the day. I call Justin, tell him I'll be home soon. He says good, that he needs to talk to me. Swell. This is not a good day for a heart to heart. This is a good day for him to meet me at the door with a glass of whiskey and the promise of a blow job. I loosen my tie as I inhale the sawdust, fumes and raw smells of work in progress. The construction phase of a re-hab always makes me feel as if things are getting worse instead of better. I know Phillip knows what he's doing and he'll bring it in on schedule if not on budget, but it looks so forlorn. The identifiers of being a jail have largely been removed, while the things that will give it a new identity are not yet in place. It just looks like a huge open space with exposed wiring and pipes in the ceiling, walls stripped to the struts and white canvas stretched over the wooden floors.
"It's going to be beautiful," Sherm's soft voice. I turn to look at my resident ghost. The chaos hasn't reached him, he still looks pressed and neat. If dead.
"It must be tiring for you."
He smiles. "See, I don't get tired. Don't get hungry. Don't need to go to the bathroom, hell, I don't even breathe."
I nod. "That sounds like my day."
"You look beat."
"Working on a big campaign pitch. Running out of time. It has to be right. I have to pay for all this," I wave at the chaos. He nods.
"You'll do fine. How's my Aunt Sophie?"
"Feisty. She's adopted all of us."
"Figured she would."
"Sorry about all this, Sherm."
"It's fascinating, but lately, I've been thinking I should move on."
I look at the small man's earnest face and nod. I'll miss him but the idea of being trapped really doesn't appeal to my own spirit. "How do you do that?"
"That's the funny thing. I have no idea. And I'm still terrified to go, so maybe I'm here forever. I promise not to intrude when you move in. I don't know how to make myself invisible to you because I don't know why a few, very few, people see me. It has to do with you, not me. Some ability in you that permits you this vision."
"Lucky me," I say with a smile.
"Maybe we knew each other in a different life, no wait. I'm dead and I see no other life on the horizon, so that must be bullshit. Live it up. You really do only go around once."
"Maybe you have to check in before you check out again."
A knock on the front door surprises me. I head over there as Sherm vanishes. I open it to see a man in a dripping black overcoat, his silver hair gleaming in the street light. "Brian, I saw you from across the street. It's Parker. Brog's friend, remember me? Is this the jail I've heard so much about?"
Swell. I wave him in. "At your own peril, it's crazy in here." I'm in no mood to be nice, so beware "Brog's friend". He smooths the water from his hair and looks around. He is a good looking guy, I reluctantly admit to myself. The grey hair is striking with those very blue eyes and young face. Not my type, but not bad. He smiles at me.
"It's huge."
"So they tell me. Oh wait, you mean the space. Yeah, lots of room."
Parker laughs at that and peers at the blueprints spread out on a desk. "Very ambitious."
"Very." I look around, no sign of Sherm. Good, I don't want to explain my ghost to Parker. He motions to the stairs.
"May I go up?"
"Knock yourself out, but watch your step. Lawyers and hazards, potent combination."
He smiles at me. "I promise not to sue." I follow him upstairs.
"What were you doing in this part of town?"
"There's a tailor I like on the corner, across the street. I got to know him when I lived in Chelsea and I keep going back to him. I'm having a suit altered."
"Gaining weight from your new bliss?" I hate myself sometimes. He glances over his shoulder at me.
"No. It's new, just needs some tweaking."
I bite my tongue, bite my tongue, bite my tongue. Will not quip about a wedding in his future. I manage to swallow that barb as we walk one floor and then the other. "I was supposed to lunch with Brog today but I got tied up."
"He told me. He had a nice lunch with Cat."
"Good. He found a place yet?"
"Yes," Parker runs his hand over the bars in a cell, and says, "He's moving in with me."
You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. I stare at him. Say nothing. He shrugs. This is ridiculous. "Are you nuts?" I can't help myself.
"You'll have to take this up with Brog, Brian."
"He just decided to be gay. Now he's 'moving in'? You need to know that when Brog gets hung up on someone he jumps in with both feet and then it always turns into a fucking disaster. Why are you rushing into this? He needs some time to figure out who the hell he really is."
Parker engages my gaze with his. "I know you love Brog and you're concerned for his happiness, but I'm not debating this with you, Brian. It's a decision between two people, not three. If you want to harangue Brog, that's your right. But you can back off with me. Your opinion really doesn't do it for me."
You prissy little queen, I think to myself. But wait. He isn't a prissy little queen. That was pretty damned butch of him. I almost smile. "Look, I have to go. Justin's expecting me and I'm tired. I'm locking up."
He nods and follows me down the stairs and as we pause at the door, he says, "I'd offer to share a cab but I'm going uptown."
"It's stopped raining. I may walk. I've been cooped up all day."
"Thanks for the tour. Brian, I really care about Brog. You can be sure of that."
I shrug, watch him head for the corner, to hail a cab. I reach for the light switch. As I do so, I glimpse Sherm standing at the top of the stairs. But he's not looking at me. There's a man walking up the steps with a heavy tread, towards him. He's a big man, broad shouldered, powerful, dressed in a dusty fireman's uniform. His fireman's hat is under one arm. He has curly auburn hair. I start to call out to him, but then I realize he isn't really here, not in the corporeal sense. I hear Sherm say,
"Who are you?"
"You can call me Hero," he replies in a broad New York native accent.
"Why are you here?" Sherm sounds nervous, if a ghost can be nervous.
"I'm here to rescue you."
"Why?"
"It's what I do. It's what I've always done."
"Why now?"
"He led me to you."
"Who did?"
"Parker. My love."
"I'm afraid."
"Don't be," the dead fireman gives him the biggest, most engaging smile I have ever seen on anyone, living or dead. He claps a hand on Sherm's skinny shoulder and it stays there instead of going straight through him. "It's all good, Sherm. And it gets even better. You trust me, don't you?"
Who wouldn't trust him, I think to myself. He reeks with compassion, strength and courage. What a rival, living or dead, he is. He opens his hand to Sherm, who takes hold of it. The fireman says, "Walk with me. I'm going to lead you out of this place and take you safely home."
Sherm takes his hand, and just like that, they're both gone. I stand there for a minute. I turn off the lights. I lock the door, I take a step onto the sidewalk. A cool breeze blows past me. "Goodbye, Sherm," I whisper into the night. "Safe trip." I'll miss the little geek. I turn left and head home to my lover.